


saturnine.

by fineahrt



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Bisexual Disaster Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is Bad at Feelings, F/F, F/M, Lesbian Beverly Marsh, M/M, Mike Hanlon Deserves Nice Things, Non-Binary Stanley Uris, Pansexual Mike Hanlon, Richie Tozier Has a Sister, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Stanley Uris Lives, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineahrt/pseuds/fineahrt
Summary: an alternate universe where richie tozier & eddie kaspbrak meet at a fine arts college. eddie loves photography and film-making, while richie loves to act. how does one become the subject of desire?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris
Kudos: 7





	1. 01

Eddie Kaspbrak is probably the most diligent person in his class; nonetheless, he is prepared to flunk this assignment. For the first time in his life, he does not have a plan. Not one. 

His professor assigned an observational project, or as he called it:  ‘ _In their moment project’._ Either way, Eddie has no one to use as his model--practically everyone who goes to his college is a piece of shit. He knew that even if he aimed his camera in their vicinity, they’d kill him. Would he rather be killed or get a good grade? At this point, he didn’t care which one came first.

Eddie decided to take a walk around campus to reboot his brain. Fresh air and a good walk tend to help him plan things; he finds comfort in the way the air hits his face--as if the wind saw his negative thoughts and swept them away. He walks to the park, finding a place to sit down, and scans his surroundings. 

Only one person stood out to him: a disheveled boy feeding his dog a piece of salami from his sandwich; his hand then swatted away by a well-kept girl with long, strawberry blonde hair. The drastic configuration between the two made Eddie chuckle to himself; a woman--who Eddie’s mom would warn him about--and a man who, if he wanted to, could blend in with the tourists by town square. Yet, there was something about him that drew Eddie in. Without a thought, Eddie walks over to the two.

“Hi, um..I’m Eddie! I was wondering if one of you would like to be my model for my observational assignment?” 

Before the girl next to him has the opportunity to speak, the boy loudly interrupts.  “HI EDDIE! I’m Richie, this is my dog with fur and my dog with skin!” He points to both his dog and the girl--who covers his mouth with the palm of her hand.

“Sorry about him. I’m Alyssa, his girlfriend. The dog’s name is Salami--trust me, I didn’t name him that...I wanted to name him Coltrane, but Rich insisted to name him after lunchmeat.” 

At that, Eddie visually soaks up all the information and shakes his head.

“Uh, yeah! Very nice to meet you guys--Richie, Alyssa, and Salami--but I was wondering if I could talk to Richie alone?” he says, his words coming out more harsh than he intended them to be. 

Alyssa shot a glance over at her boyfriend; earning a nod from him. She picks up the dog leash and pecks Richie on the lips before she walks away. Quickly, he turns to Eddie--relief washed over his face in an instant. 

“Thanks, dude! ‘Lys has been a real pain-in-the-ass lately, and I haven’t seen the boys in god knows how long..geeze, sorry, I shouldn’t be dishin’ my life story on ya. Talk project, brother. Floor is yours.” 

With his eyebrows knit in confusion, Eddie replies, “Yes..project talk time...so I have this thing, cus I’m sorta hoping to pursue some sort of film career--photos, videos, whatever--and you seem like the perfect model for my project.”

“Oh, hells yeah! Do you wanna do it now or later? I can always cancel plans with Alyssa.”

“Well, I left my camera back at my dorm, so..” Eddie slowly backed away; awkward and timid; to which Richie moved towards him.

“Hey--wait, I can walk with you to your dorm and we  could like...plan ‘n shit! No sense in leaving each other if we’re gonna meet up again, right?”

“Right, yeah! Sounds good! Follow me, my dorm is just around the corner.” 

——

At Eddie’s dorm, he learned two things: Alyssa is a music major and Richie is an acting major. Alyssa hates the immaturity behind his major, and he hates how she talks about musical composition; but in simpler terms, they cannot stand each other. At all.  _How the hell are they still together?_ Eddie pondered. 

Richie insists that she’s incredible in bed, and that’s why he and Alyssa haven’t broken up yet. Which, as you can imagine, interested him a big deal. It’s humorous--the way he talked to him about his girlfriend--as if they knew each other longer than a solid thirty minutes. Perhaps there aren’t any “boys”, making Eddie the first.

“Rich, it sounds like you’re misogynistic or some shit.” Eddie mumbled.

“I’m not! Fuckin’ feminism is great! My bestest pal in the universe is a girl, and I don’t hate her...it’s just Alyssa.” 

“Sounds like you need to break up with her. She deserves better, right?” 

Richie’s eyes bulge out in disbelief, earning a dismissive hand from Eddie.

“I know she’s a bitch to you, but hey. Respect her, do the right thing.”

“Eddie, if I do that, I am homeless. Home. Fuckin. Less. She’ll take the key to my dorm  and  the dog. She’s fucking looney. But, anyways...enough of the therapy shit. Let’s capture my beauty for that project of yours, eh?” 

Richie sure knew how to talk, but Eddie didn’t mind it at all. 

——

Eddie decided to take Richie to the diner in town square, catching his quips and candid smiles on film. The boy was right about one thing--he was beautiful. It was hard  _not_ to film his every move; everything about him was worth documenting. In fact, Eddie’s camera ran out of storage very early on, but he would pretend to film just to see Richie smile. What was his life before meeting him? He truly could not remember and did not care in the slightest. All he knew was his life right now: Richie, smiling at him.  He  is his life; the sun; the stars; and the moon. 

\--END OF CHAPTER--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the layout bruh i imported it from my google docs


	2. 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s me, ya gay. enjoy this chapter thank u goodnight

One week after they first met, Richie found himself to be thinking of Eddie quite a bit. Why hasn’t he reached out to him? Should  he  be the one to reach out? It would be a simple task--contacting him; all he had to do was dial. Richie fiddled with the cheap rings on his fingers, his pinky lay flat against his phone as a sign of restlessness. Maybe, if he stared long enough, the phone would ring by itself; his theory found to be plausible once the phone did exactly that--ring.

“Richie Tozier speaking...is this Eddie?”

Richie hears a distinct giggle bubble out of him before he answers. 

“Yeah! It would be a bit odd if someone else answered with my number, huh?”

“Huh..yeah. Hey, listen, um..I’m just going to cut to the chase here, cus I tend to ramble and get off topic. God, okay..could we meet down at the park?” blurts Richie, his words feeling uneasy and stiff.

For a second, Eddie remains silent; however, he can hear Richie fidgeting on the other line. He waits a couple more seconds before he replies; his voice felt foreign after their one week departure from one another.

“Of course! I’ll meet you in twenty.”

——

Richie tugged the quilt from under his arm and placed it on the grass. It had been longer than twenty minutes--he counted--and yet, Eddie is not there.  _ I look like the fucking White Rabbit,  _ he mused.  _ Eddie would text me if it was anything else. _

Moments later, the boy in question walks into Richie’s view. His eyes watch Eddie as he scans the park for a familiar face--a picnic basket held tightly in his grip, camera slung around his neck. It’s not long until Eddie finally approaches him; eyes soft once he notices the quilt and the boy who sat on it.

“Hey! So...I made us lunch--salami sandwiches, fruit, soda, all the works!”

Now it was Richie’s turn to be silent; nonetheless, Eddie continued.

“I know it’s a little odd..but I just thought it would be a good apology for my M.I.A. ass.”

“Well, you make a pretty mean apology, Kaspbrak.” Richie remarked, picking up his sandwich.

——

After both boys finished their lunch, they decided to head back to Eddie’s dorm and hangout for an hour or two. The ‘hour or two’ turned into three, which then turned to four hours. During those four hours, Richie discovered three things: (1) Eddie’s roommate is a guy named Eric; (2) there is a case of Hard Lemonade under Eric’s bed; and (3) he can ‘chug’ an entire case before the opening theme for “Dumbo” concludes.

Eddie _adored_ the movie. It quickly became his comfort movie as he grew up; butterflies continue to fly each time it comes on. It reminded him of his father; they watched it every Fourth of July--until the day his father passed away. After his death, Eddie begged his mother to keep the tradition alive, but to no avail; thus, watching “Dumbo” with Richie would be the first time in four years. It felt awfully bittersweet--but a tad comforting, too.

Richie sat next to him on the twin-sized bed--scooting right next to Eddie. He swallowed his boundaries with the alcohol that covered his behavior; resting his head on the other’s shoulder--eyes fixated on Eddie. But, surprisingly, Eddie didn’t mind. Sure, Richie’s hair was pretty fucking greasy, but he was cute. He could deal with greasy.

He turns his head to lock eyes with Richie. Eddie couldn’t help but giggle at the lovestruck look in his eyes--who knew that was a real fucking thing? He wanted to speak up, but he couldn't. All he could do was stare into his eyes and hope he talked first--which he did.

“Eddie?” 

“Hm?”

“I think I should call ‘Lys. Break-up with that whore.” mumbles Richie.

Eddie pauses the movie and looks at the boy on his shoulder; his lovestruck eyes replaced with stress and anxiety.

“Why do you want to end things with Alyssa, Rich?”

“Said I talk about you too much. But, she turned around and fucked some guy. Prob’ly got Aids, that whore.”

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but Richie continued.

“I mean, so what! I talk ‘bout this really cute motherfucker, ‘n that equals cheating? ‘M not sorry! Has _she_ ever made me a  _surprise_ salami sammie? No! But you did!” Richie lifts his hand to cup Eddie’s cheek; blush sweeping under his doe-like eyes. “Eds, look at me.” 

“I’m looking at you.”

“Okay, ‘m hella drunk, but ‘m asking anyway. Hypothetically, if I kissed you, would you pull away? ‘M hoping you’d kiss back, though. Just saying.” 

Eddie’s heart stopped. What the hell is he supposed to say? Richie is  _sloshed_.  He’s flat-out wasted. Plus, he hasn’t even broken up with Alyssa yet, and they  _literally_ met a week ago. He knew he had to say that he’d pull away--but this could be the only opportunity. What’s the worst that could happen? Eddie  knows  that he likes Richie. And, if there’s a God, Richie likes him back.

_ Fuck it. _

He leans in and kisses him; when they part, Eddie replies: “I’d kiss back, Rich.”

\--END OF CHAPTER--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t hate on me i just write


	3. 03

The next morning, Eddie wakes up alone in his bed. Richie had left immediately after he broke-up with Alyssa over the phone at around 2 A.M. Quite frankly, Eddie felt no sorrow for Alyssa once he heard the whirl she gave to Richie--she didn’t know he was listening to their conversation, but he was mouthing insults towards her the entire time. To summarize the break-up call, Alyssa has ‘too much shit to talk about over the phone’, and they will talk about their relationship at his dorm later--which probably happened before Eddie woke up. 

_ Knock, knock.  _

Raising to his feet, Eddie checks his phone to see if he got a text from Richie--he didn’t--nor did he recieve one from anyone else.  _ Who the hell is knocking at my door at fuckin’ ten in the morning? _ He thought angrily, to which he opened the door with force. 

“Alyssa? Is something the matter?” Eddie asked hesitantly, taking notice at the tear-stains on her cheeks. Though she seemed to be on the verge of crying in front of him, she also shook with an unmistakable rage; eyebrows furrowed and mouth clenched into a fine line. Suddenly, Alyssa hits him; awaiting the boy to tell her off or even hit her back, but he doesn’t. Instead, Eddie laughs; his nose dripping blood and his right eye swollen shut. 

“Why are you laughing, jackass? It’s supposed to hurt!” screamed Alyssa, pushing past the boy to enter his dorm. “I fucking hit you. You’re bleeding, for god’s sake!”

“Oh, trust me, it feels like shit. I just think it’s funny.” Eddie chortled.

“What could  _ possibly _ be funny, Eddie?”

“I just think it’s funny that you didn’t consider the outcomes of hitting me.” He lets out an exasperated breath and turns to face her. “I know you’re just trying to lure him back to you, but  hitting  his friend?  _Tsk, tsk_ _._ ” 

Alyssa lifts her hand to hit him again--quickly blocked by Eddie’s hand, the other pushing her in the direction of the door. He opens the door and shoves her out; though, she made no effort to wiggle back in.

\---

Alyssa entered Richie’s dorm with a huff--causing the boy to look up and see her bloodied fist. The two talked about the drunken call Richie made hours before; Alyssa yelled, Richie yelled; an official break-up. But, the timeline between their talk and her hitting Eddie did not include her getting rid of the key she had to his dorm; thus, there was no right reason for her to be there right now. 

Alyssa follows Richie’s eyes as they make their way back to her face.

“The fuck happened at Home Depot?” blurted Richie, not bothering to get up from his chair. 

“I didn’t go to Home Depot.” mumbled Alyssa, setting her key on the table next to him. 

“Where’d you go then?” his tone drenched with irritation; escalating once she failed to respond to him. “Okay, you talk all the goddamn time, Alyssa. What the fuck did you do? Just say it.” 

“Why don’t you ask Eddie that?” she spat, eyes piercing into his skin. 

The air felt hostile. Stiff. In other situations, they would have sex to forget the fight. But, this was different. This isn’t like, _‘_ _Oh, Gayle is just my friend from Church!’_ or  _‘I wasn’t flirting with the waiter, Rich!’_ This is something sex cannot fix--and hell, even if it did, Richie wouldn’t do it. 

Alyssa slides him his phone--she had it in her pocket--and he immediately checks his text messages. 

** Eddie  **

_ 10:30 AM:  _ _Alyssa came to my dorm…?_

_10:32 AM: She must be over at ur place. But, I just thought I’d let you know what went down. ***ATTACHED: IMAGE FROM EDDIE KASPBRAK** * _

Richie slams his phone on the table; the image Eddie sent remained on the screen for Alyssa to see. Before she can justify herself, he waves her over. Hesitant, Alyssa sits beside him. 

“Thank you, darling. Say, why don’t you take Salami for a walk?” He gets up from his chair and picks up the dog leash; releasing Salami from his crate. “After that, we can hang here and watch a movie, okay? I just need to finish my assignment here.”

Alyssa sighs in relief, and makes her way to the door. “Okay, pookiee. Good luck on your assignment! Be back in a jiff.” 

Once the door closed behind her, Richie reached for her key and his phone. He opens his camera and films himself as he walks into the bathroom. He walks over to the toilet and, without a second thought, drops her key in it; flushing it down into the sewers; away from her possession. He ends the video after that and sends it to Eddie; a text following after.

** Richie **

_11:15 AM: ***ATTACHED: VIDEO FROM RICHIE TOZIER***_

_ 11:16 AM:  I’ve got a plan. Meet me at the diner we went to last week. _

\--END OF CHAPTER--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no hate just sexy feelings


	4. 04

Immediately after he receives Richie’s text, Eddie changes from his blood-stained clothes and into the first pair of clothes he sees. Thankfully, the outfit perfectly punctuated his swollen eye and the blood on his wrist--he had forgotten about his nose until he wiped it, which stained his knuckle. Anxiety filled him as he thought about the glances he would receive as he walked to the diner. Eddie wasn’t one to fight physically, but random strangers don’t know that. All they see is a punk. Danger. 

But, as he stepped onto the square, no one glanced at him. They knew he wasn’t a threat--after all, he just came from an art school--it could be stage make-up. That’s the thing about New York; what would surprise you won’t surprise the public. Everyone was preoccupied with their own shit--no time to glance at some  rando dude with a bruised eye. 

——

The door chimed as Eddie walked into the diner. Richie had made them a reservation, despite the lack of business. He met him at the booth they sat in last week; to which he claimed was purely a coincidence. Unlike last week, Richie’s smile was replaced with a frown--eyes fixated on Eddie. 

“I’m so sorry she hit you, Eds.” He reaches for his hand; his thumb lightly tracing his knuckles. “She lied to me. If I knew that she was going to  _your_ dorm..I would have stopped her. I wouldn’t let her lay a finger on you.”

Eddie could feel himself about to break down in tears. He knew Richie had nothing to do with this, but the sweetness in his voice reassured him. He wasn’t one to cry at things like this--but there’s a first time for everything. Eddie wipes the single tear that escaped his eye and smiles weakly. “This is a new side of you. Very protective.” 

“What can I say? I’d take  _any_ opportunity to tackle someone to the ground--especially Alyssa.” Richie remarks; a smile slowly creeping up his face--a sight Eddie utterly adored. 

When the waitress came, Richie thought about ordering a milkshake for the two of them to share; a scene straight out of a ‘50s romcom. Alas, he was no greaser, nor was he one to tolerate dairy.  _ Maybe this time will be different.  _

Eddie tapped his fingertips on the counter as the waitress handed Richie their milkshake. “One chocolate-banana swirl ‘n two straws, eh?” Eddie throws him a look of confusion, but Richie pipes up; his eyes locking with the boy. “Yes,  _Edward_.  We’re sharing.” 

“And what makes you think  I  want to share a milkshake,  _ Richard?” _

“You have that look,” chuckled Richie. “You were practically begging me to buy us one.”

Eddie sighed in defeat; the innocence of his actions contrary to his voice--a dripping harmony of sarcasm. “Man, you got me. Caught red-fucking-handed.” 

——

“You want _me_ to get in this shit with wheels?” roared Eddie, leaving the passenger door open. Richie pats the seat next to him and winks at him--getting an eye roll in return. Perhaps he would stop if Eddie got in. 

“I knew you’d give in, bitch.” 

“Shut up.” 

\---

The sun rose by the time they pulled into the motel. Richie wanted to throw Alyssa’s radar way off; driving all the way to California. It took forty-four hours and five energy drinks--but, it was worth it. He could’ve found a nice hotel, but he didn’t wanna spend all of his money; thus, the charming motel they just arrived at. 

“Rich, could we just sleep in the car?” Eddie yawned, fluttering his eyes open.

“Nope. It’s not that comfortable in here.”

“I’m too exhausted to get up. Carry me?”

“Sure. If the desk clerk asks, you’re my brother.” quipped Richie, opening the car door. 

Richie got a room with two beds; getting a singular bed would be too forward. And, well, gay. Eddie was just his friend to whom he deeply cared for--which, really, isn’t that abnormal for him. He’s a compassionate guy who wants his friends to feel loved. He’s not gay. Just a really,  _really_ good friend. A good friend who feels electric when he locks eyes with the other. A good friend who shows love with physical touch. Again, he is  _not_ gay. He’s just a caring guy! 

Eddie has yet to mention their kiss, so he probably understands Richie’s intentions. Probably. Eddie isn’t gay, right? Maybe he’s the compassionate type as well?  _Straight guys can have an extreme passion for photography ‘n shit, right?_

“Richie, where are you going?” whined Eddie, grabbing Richie’s arm as he motioned to his bed. “There’s room for both of  us in here . I’ll scoot over.” Once Richie got into the covers, Eddie kissed him on his cheek; turning on his side so he could go to sleep. In the morning, he would claim that he was just sleep deprived--that is, if it even comes up in conversation. Richie must be thinking the same thing; holding the boy close with his cheek nestled against him.

“G’night, Eds.” he whispered, planting a kiss on the back of his neck. 

“Goodnight, ‘Chee.”

\--END OF  CHAPTER--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life is a highway i’m gonna ride it all night loooonnngfff


	5. 05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> richie and eddie’s first day in california.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// slight smut ? and mention of alcohol ! idk but hey just warning u it gets hella homo @ the end

The California sun poured through the windows; another day had dawned, bringing with it new hopes and aspirations. Eddie awoke in the arms of the other--identical to the position they fell asleep in. Richie’s cheek had moved from his shoulder to the crook of his neck; hot breath dusting the goosebumps that crept up Eddie’s spine. 

Unconsciously, Eddie’s hand traces Richie’s cheek; the soothing gesture awakening him with a soft ‘mmph’ escaping his lips. He swiftly intertwines his leg with Eddie’s, pulling him closer. “I don’t wanna get up, Eds.” Richie obnoxiously sniffs his shoulder--giggling to himself as he does so. “You smell good. Like a freshly powdered baby ass.” 

“Well, I shower.” Eddie pries away from Richie; hissing once he accidentally rubbed his bruised eye. “I’m going to go down to the ice machine, okay? I expect you to be dressed when I come back.” 

“Taking me on a date, aren’t ya?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” quipped Eddie. “They have  _ free  _ breakfast here.”

“Why do I have to change?” He motions to his pajamas; a worn-out t-shirt and basketball shorts. “I think I look okay!” 

“You look like you’d sit on the side of the road and beg me for spare change.” Eddie walks over to the door; glancing at Richie once more. “It’s common courtesy, Rich. Just throw some clothes on and make yourself presentable.” 

\---

“I’m back with the ice!” Eddie called out, knocking on the door before he opened it. He walked into the room with his eyes fixated on the faded carpet--it’s probably been there for years; decades of old stains and spills. If he were Richie, he’d be fascinated by the aging carpet--perhaps the stains had some sort of history. But, he was not Richie--he was Eddie; and he found the carpet to be absolutely revolting. 

“Richie, have you looked at this--” His sentence was cut off once he tore his eyes away from the carpet--dropping the bucket of ice on the floor. In front of him was Richie; wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair dripped onto his collarbone; a single drop of water traveled down his chest. 

“Cat got your tongue?” giggled Richie, crossing his legs as he sat down on the bed. “I took a shower, obviously. Just got out.” Eddie remained mute; mouth agape and eyes wide. He wants to say  _ something,  _ but he can’t. His breath is caught high in his chest--he wheezes a bit--but remains still. He only ever feels like this around Richie. 

Eddie’s eyes trace his velvety skin; freckles dance upon his shoulders--deep brown, very light--his cheeks decorated almost identically. For once, Richie’s hair was clean. Eddie’s mouth comes back to the surface before his body does--startling himself a bit. “Get up,” He motions to his dripping hair. “You’re gonna soak the bedsheets.” 

“They’re gonna be soaking wet anyway, ya heard?”

Finally, Eddie’s body is no longer paralyzed; quickly walking up to Richie, punching his arm. “You’re fucking gross, you know that?” His arm remained on him--his forceful grip melting away. “Hurry up, dickhead. I don’t want to miss breakfast.” 

Richie ends up making a  _ humongous  _ stack of pancakes--each one heavily decorated in whipped cream; Eddie thought it was fucking disgusting. ‘ _ There’s more whip cream than pancake, Rich!’ _

Eddie ate two pancakes and a bowl of assorted fruit. He  _ loved  _ fruit--they reminded him of a simpler time; his father used to make him chocolate-covered strawberries. Eddie has tried to make them himself, but they don’t taste the same as his father’s. 

After his dad died, Eddie held himself responsible to keep his memory alive. Sonia, Eddie’s mother, never brought up his death; as if it was something to just brush off. His mother acted like that before his death, but Eddie secretly hoped grief would change her. Death definitely changed Eddie; his repressed sexuality faded with time. Sonia remained shrill and controlling--never showing a sign of weakness or grief; never losing her grip on an irrational world. 

Richie snapped his fingers in front of his face; his thoughts interrupted. “We gotta bounce, dude. Here,” He scoots Eddie’s chair out for him. “You seem a little out of it. Perhaps a little fresh air will help, hm?” 

\---

Evening came awfully fast. The night sky was devilishly dark; a mere resemblance of black satin. The desk lamp lit the paper Richie was writing on--a monologue he wanted to remember; his memory often betrayed him. Unlike most people, he was not one to sit down and crank work. Sure, he had motivation and ambition--he just needed a break. 

Richie stood up quickly and shook his head. “Eddie, I need to get out of this room for a bit.”

“And where would you go?”

“Honestly?” He stood awkwardly and fixated his eyes on the floor. “I wanna go to a bar and get wasted. You in?” 

Eddie was not one to get wasted, nor was he one to drink. He knew that whatever bar Richie would pick would be completely sleazy; deteriorating walls reeking of weed. A place like that is a place he should stay five feet away from. So, he denied Richie’s offer--leaving him tucked under the covers and turning a movie on. Alone.

Richie was at the bar for _hours;_ Eddie finished the movie he started when he left. He sat anxiously in bed and watched the door. _What if he’s face-down in a ditch?_ He pondered, resting his chin in his hand. _I miss that fucking dumbass._

Eddie didn’t know how much longer he could last without him; was he  _ that  _ whipped? Probably. Whipped or not, waiting for him was unbearable--so, Eddie turned another movie on to pass the time. But, his mind ended up somewhere else; thinking of subjects beyond the film. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if Richie was there--would he hold his hand? Kiss him? Cuddle him? Probably not. But it didn’t hurt to think about. 

It didn’t hurt to think about the kiss they shared back in New York. It didn’t hurt to think about the way Richie held him tight as he ran his fingers through his hair. However, it did hurt to think about the fact that they haven’t kissed since then. It did hurt to think about how quickly it became undiscussable history. It will continue to hurt if Eddie remains silent. 

The door opens abruptly as Richie returns from the bar; not a scratch on him. Eddie lets out a relieved sigh and makes an effort to speak up, but Richie interrupts him. “Eddieee, here’s a prezzie!” He stumbles over to the bed and dumps the bag out. “Lookie! Lookie!”

Eddie’s eyes jolt between the contents and the enthusiastic boy hovering above them. “Richie, this is--”

“ALCOHOL!” 

“Barely. It’s fucking White Claw.” 

“Just for you,” Richie burps, opening a can for him. Eddie slowly inches away from him, attempting any contact with the alcohol. Richie beamed at him; an indistinguishable red tint to his cheeks. “C’mon, now. ‘M waiting.”

“Fine.” Eddie grumbles, taking it out of Richie’s hand. After his first sip, he scoots back and glares at the can--it’s not that bad. “Will this make me drunk?” 

“Dunno. Wanna see?” 

“I don’t see why not. Here,” Eddie passes him a can. “Go wild.”

Eddie had almost all of the White Claw--Richie had two; now, Richie wasn’t the only drunk idiot. Music blared from Richie’s phone as the two boys danced around their hotel room. Was Richie a good dancer? Probably not. But, drunk Richie was  _ definitely not  _ a good dancer. He insisted that he was  _ ‘the god of choreography’ _ but he was nowhere near that.

Eddie stopped dancing and grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “Chee?” Richie’s eyebrows knit in confusion, studying his face. Eddie runs his hand through Richie’s hair, his eyes flutter as he does so. He looks absolutely gorgeous. 

Realization rushed over Richie’s face; surging forward to kiss him. He begins to pull back, but Eddie kisses him back with passion and desire. They go back towards the bed and Richie climbs on top of him, deepening the kiss. He sucks on his bottom lip--a slight whine escaping the other; his hands grasping his back. Richie flips them over so Eddie is sitting on his lap. Eddie’s hands find their way back to Richie’s hair--pulling until he quietly moans in his mouth, quickly reaching for his ass. 

Eddie suddenly jerks back, breaking the kiss. “I needa barf, Chee-baller.” He winces as he crawls off the bed. “So I guess no more kissing tonight. Sorry.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gay people exist?!?!!?! i thought that was an urban legend


	6. 06

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> richie gets a phone call from an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// mention of sickness/throwing up and smut.

Richie awoke in a cold sweat--moving the duvet as he jolted up. To his left, Eddie slept softly; his hand sewn tightly around the other. His doe-shaped eyes fluttered as he dreamt away--and though he was right next to him, Richie missed him. Of course, he wouldn’t dare to wake him, but a part of him wanted to. _Hell, this is probably his first hangover._ He thought, lightly brushing a stray hair behind Eddie’s ear. _I should probably get him some aspirin._

Unlike Eddie, Richie knew how to cure a hangover with ease; for once, he was the one who knew the remedy: lemon-ginger tea, aspirin, and saltine crackers. He would use the same remedy for his hangover, but it doesn’t seem to work as well as it used to. Richie found that the more hangovers he had, the more immune he grew. Maybe--if he kept drinking--the side effects would fade with time; leaving _hungover_ mornings to just _mornings._

One of the things that contrasted both Richie and Eddie apart was their drinking habits. Eddie _did_ drink, just not as frequently as the average college student--or Richie, for that matter. Alcohol wasn’t his crutch or a shoulder to cry on; alcohol was, simply, something he used to pass the time. Eddie wasn’t a people-pleaser, nor was he (usually) one to give into peer pressure. Richie was. 

Eddie woke up with a groan, lightly rubbing his temples with his fingertips. An arm snaked around his waist and pulled him close. “Don’t squeeze me _too_ hard, Rich. I’ll regurgitate all over this bitch.” He let out a fake gag, giggling at the squeak he got in response. “Relax, I was joking. I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because, if you weren’t okay...” Richie pointed to where the remedy sat. 

“Oh! Well, on second thought...I do feel gross.” mused Eddie, turning to face the other. “Shit. You’re like, gorgeous. I should get drunk way more often.” 

Richie’s arm disappears from Eddie’s waist, an abrupt laugh escaping him. “So I’m only gorgeous when you’re hungover?” 

“Probably.” His finger reaches up to trace Richie’s freckles--completely contrary to his tone of voice. “Won’t know until we try it more than once.” His eyes follow down his face, fixating on his lips. Eddie’s chin is lifted up by a broad finger, forcing him to lock eyes with Richie--warm and inviting; an indirect devotion. Did he, too, remember the night before? Did he, too, remember how _right_ it felt?

Something vibrates against Eddie’s leg, halting all romantic ideology. “What the goddamn fuck is vibrating against my fucking leg?”

“Chillax, Eds! It’s just my phone!” asserted Richie, lifting it above the sheets. “I must have put it there last night and forgot all about it. Nothing intentional.” 

“Well, answer it! Seems urgent!” seethed Eddie. 

“Okay!” Richie picked up his phone, shielding the screen with the palm of his hand. His notifications were full of missed calls and texts from an unknown number--which attempts to call him once more. He turns the screen towards Eddie. “Do you know who this is?”

“I don’t know anyone with a California phone number.”

“Eddie?” whispered Richie, a shaky breath following after. “Where’s your phone?”

“I think I left it in the bathroom. Why?” 

“Get it.” he urged, his tone firm; a new side of Richie revealing itself. His eyes close briefly--opening with a dark gaze. “Okay, fine. I’ll get it. Where did you leave it?”

“T-the sink?” Eddie stammers, clearing his throat. “I think I left it on the sink, Rich.” He reaches out to touch his face--he looks awfully pale; his hand immediately dodged. Eddie’s eyes follow Richie as he gets out of the bed. “What’s going on?” 

Richie lets out a weak laugh--no reply, but his body language spoke for him. His cotton socks scoot across the floor as he looks for Eddie’s phone; right where he said it would be. Suddenly, it rang--confirming Richie’s wavering conspiracy: the unknown number wasn’t after _him_ individually. It was after _them._ Whoever this is wants to come in between the two--and there’s no way it’s Alyssa; both Richie and Eddie had blocked her. Was it just a big misunderstanding? Maybe he’s overreacting. 

He wasn’t. 

\--

“Come on, Richie. It’s probably just someone fucking with us.” sighed Eddie.

“Whatever. I’m calling them back.” Richie picked up his phone, lips clenching into a fine line as he waited. “The one time they don’t answer. Fucking pussy.” 

The other line answered on the last dial tone; soul escaping his body once he hears their voice. “Didn’t tell me you’d be in California, Rico!” A pregnant pause followed after--his eyes grew wide. _No shit._

“Mike Hanlon?” 

“The one and only.” chortled Mike; his laugh alone flooded Richie with nostalgia. How did he forget about Mike and his partner, Stan, moving to California? Was he _that_ bad at remembering things? 

“Holy fuck, dude! New number came with the move?”

“Yup. Sorry for spamming you and that Eddie guy. Stan knows him, apparently. Well, they don’t _know_ him...more of an idolizing thing. They’re always talking about those fabulous pictures he takes--you know, the bird ones? Nature on the ‘gram?” 

“Huh. Yeah, he’s a great photographer.” mumbled Richie, standing idly on the carpet; usually _he_ was the one to ramble. “Not that I’m not happy to talk to you--believe me-- but, what’s the catch here?”

“Catch? There isn’t a catch, Rico.”

“OK, what are you getting at, then?” His tone is laced with irritation and speculation; there _was_ a catch, and he knew exactly what it was. 

Richie met both Stan and Mike his sophomore year in high school. The three of them grew very close; it was always _‘Richie is hanging out with Stan and Mike today!’_ or _‘Miss. Breaker? Can you please tell Stan, Richie, and Mike to quiet down?’_ Nobody could separate them--or so they thought. 

Senior year, Richie formed a band with a girl named Beverly Marsh. They formally met in Theatre Arts--their souls found each other through the teen-angst debris. Beverly quickly became his new best friend--his _only_ best friend; losing the relationship he had with Mike and Stan. She was so incredibly similar to him; in fact, she was almost a carbon copy of Richie. She understood his visions and his capabilities. She understood _him._

Sure, he loved Mike and Stan. He loved the way they did everything together; all-nighters, study breaks, or even a quick gaming match. But, once he met Beverly, his priorities changed. Stan thought she was a bad influence--only justifying their belief based on the rumors they had heard about her. Mike, however, just wanted Richie back; change never sat well with him, but this seemed to hurt more. Day by day, they lost him. Day by day, he became closer with Beverly. 

With Beverly, he could smoke cigarettes. With Beverly, he could go on late-night adventures. With Beverly, he could fuck up. With Beverly, he could do anything and everything he _couldn’t_ do with Mike and Stan. She was what he needed--a soulmate. Beverly Marsh was the one person Richie didn’t feel obligated to please. No matter what, she loved him for _him._ Why care about your imperfections if they are what makes you beautiful? 

Beverly was gorgeous. Richie adored the way she looked while jotting down a lyric; tongue darting between her parted lips, her eyebrows furrowed. There was no doubt about her beauty, but yet, he didn’t adore her like _that._ He adored her as a _friend._ Somewhere--in the depths of his hollow brain--he knew she viewed him the same way. Comforting.

Richie blinked rapidly--he was still on the phone with Mike. Would it be weird to just...hang up? Probably. He didn’t, though--instead, he leaned on the wall and cleared his throat. “Listen, Mike,” He met Eddie’s eye and let out a constricted breath. “Leave us alone, okay? That’s all I ask.”

“Wait, Rico--”

“And don’t call me fucking Rico.” He ceased, venom seeping into his tone. “I am _not_ your fucking Rico, got it?” 

Mike coughs out an awkward laugh--he was never the one to argue; usually, he was the peacemaker. But, people change. “Beverly said I could call you that.” He replied flatly. “I really mean no harm.” 

“Yeah, like hell she would. _My_ Bee would never do that.” 

“And when was the last time you saw her?” His chair creaked loudly--and Richie knew exactly what chair Mike was sitting in; the mahogany rocking chair he made in woodshop. 

“You know damn well the last time I saw her.” Richie pulled the ends of his hair in distress; a behavior that constructed concern upon Eddie’s face. He quickly removed his hand, placing it back onto the wall. “I gotta go. Tell Stan to go fuck a bird.” 

He stood idly against the wall, phone remained in his hand. Did hanging up abruptly fuck everything up even more? Probably. Who the fuck knows? Not Richie. Nope. Nada. No matter what, _both_ boys were completely fucked. No way out.

Eddie walks over to him--slow and just a tad hesitant; placing a soft hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” He lifts Richie’s chin to face him, eyes soft. “I’m here, Chee.” 

“Eds.” He croaked, eyes flooding with tears. “Fuck.” Richie falls into his arms and weeps brokenly; Eddie’s hand running through the boy’s dark curls. He holds him tenderly--softly swaying back and forth. He was vulnerable. 

Eddie lifts his head back up, leaning close. “I’ve got you, bubba.” His eyes dart down to his lips--then back at him. “Whatever happened on that call doesn’t matter. If someone wants to fuck with us, then we fuck them back. We’re in this together.” 

Richie sniffles out a wet laugh. “You’re gonna regret that later, dude.” His face leaned in close; hot breath falling onto the petite boy’s lips. “I’m a royal fuck-up.” 

“Well, then, call me your prince.” whispered Eddie, a smirk teasing his lips. He closed the gap in between them--just for a moment; pecking his lips lightly. After a pregnant pause, Richie surged forward and kissed him once more--starting soft, but passionate; basking in the warmth of his deepest desire. His arm traveled down his back, lips parting as he did so. Eddie’s tongue licks curiously at his bottom lip--to which Richie invites with open arms; a soft hum escaping his lips. They swam in the sweet wetness and trembling fire; neither one dared to let go. 

Eddie slowly backed into the bed, lips lingering on the other. He leads Richie to lie on his back--that way, he could straddle his lap; Richie could easily flip them over if needs be. Eddie trails his lips down his jaw, breath pricking his skin. Eddie usually wasn’t one to move things so fast, but here he was; marking his property on cheap-ass sheets. It all felt foreign--rebelling against his previous morals--but it felt _right._ It felt right to hook his forefinger into the inseam of Richie’s sweatpants. It felt right to rut against him while they kissed once more. It felt right to do _anything_ with Richie.

Richie pulled away briefly, his eyes meeting with the other; a look of pure ecstasy. “Eddie,” he huffed, “wanna suck my dick?” 

“Fucking hell, Rich. Way to be nonchalant.” 

“How else was I supposed to ask?” cried Richie.

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” Eddie’s lips found the other’s once more--not kissing him, just ghosting his breath onto his lips. “I guess you’re not the modest type, huh?”

“Your guess is correct.” murmured Richie, his tone leaking sticky-sweet admiration. “That’s why _you’re_ the prince, Eds. _My_ prince.” 

Eddie’s freckles contrasted with the deep crimson shade once more. “Yeah,” he whispered, “I’m your prince.” 

“I’ve got a quest for you, Prince Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

“The quest of stroking thy wood in thy pantaloons!” exclaimed Richie, his head dipping back as laughter rolled through him--then, increasing; the annoyed expression of the other was _utterly_ humorous. “I’m sorry, dude. I had to.”

“I’ll bite the tip of your dick off if you call me ‘dude’ again.” 

“That means you’re gonna blow me?”

“Yeah, that’s literally what I just said.”

“I’m warning you now,” Richie swallowed thickly, “I’m pretty damn big. The thing’s like a sick kid foundation. High demand.”

“Whatever.” 

“Pull the sucker out and see for yourself!”

“ _Richie,_ ” hissed Eddie, “shut the fuck up.” He slowly took off Richie’s sweatpants--eyes quickly falling to the prominent outline of his growing member. His fingers crept under the inseam of his boxers--breath held tight against his chest as he pulled them down; breath even tighter once his eyes met with Richie’s throbbing dick. _Shit._

“What’d I tell you?” purred Richie. “My dick is fuckin’ ‘Make-A-Wish’ for sex.”

“I’m gonna ‘Make-A-Wish’ you shut the fuck up and let me suck your dick.”

“Consider your wish made.”

Richie groans at the way Eddie’s lips slide against his shaft--no hesitation, no second thought. He watched as the other engulfed him; as if he couldn’t survive without him. Eddie lapped his tongue over his head, occasionally stopping at the slit. A shaky hand laces in his hand--something so domestic; something so pure. Unlike Richie’s previous blowjobs from various people, this one actually mattered. He didn’t feel dirty with Eddie’s mouth on him; he felt _loved._ Eddie made him feel like he was more than just a quick fuck.

Eddie popped off his tip--a lewd noise, to say the least. He continues to stroke Richie, eyes lingering on him. He smiles softly at him; how could someone be _so_ beautiful? How could someone so beautiful like a guy like him? Hopefully, Richie thought Eddie was beautiful, too--which he totally did. No doubt about it. 

“Eddie, _baby.”_ His hand is in his hair now, redirecting him to mouth back over to the head of his dick. He lets out a low moan as Eddie took him in his mouth--his speed increased with urgency; choking around him. “Darling, I wanna make you feel good.”

Eddie lifts his head up once more. “I _do_ feel good, Rich.” His soft hand grasps his shaft with confidence--he watches the boy closely; exploring every detail that embodies Richie Tozier. “Making you feel good makes _me_ feel good. Tonight is all about you.” 

“Well,” grunts Richie, “if tonight’s all about me, may I suggest something?”

“You may, you proper fuck.”

“Can I fuck your mouth?”

“Jesus!” giggled Eddie, rubbing his eyes with the back of his (free) hand. The idea _was_ intriguing, but was he ready for _that?_ He wasn’t--but, to be fair, he hasn’t been prepared for a long time; everything with Richie was done impulsively. Sometimes, though, impulses aren’t bad. “You can totally fuck my mouth, babe. I’ll tap your hip three times if I wanna stop.”

“So glad I get to fuck this pretty little mouth of yours.” Richie ran the pad of his thumb across Eddie’s bottom lip--slowly allowing it to dip into his mouth; smug and devoted. His hooded eyes flutter once he positions his cock in his mouth. Eddie meets his eye and moans--the vibration adding onto the fire burning inside him. Richie suddenly speeds up; barely giving him time to process how _fucking_ _good_ it felt. He liked being used in an intimate setting...duly noted.

In fact, he had to reach his own hand down to his pants to tend to his aching member--just because being used felt _that_ good. So. Fucking. Good. How the fuck was he on the edge already? He can’t finish that fast, nor should he finish before Richie. _He’s_ pleasing _him._ But, by the look in Richie’s eyes--lust and adoration--he was just as close as Eddie was. 

_Brrrriinnngg, brrrriinngg!_

“Of fucking course.” sighed Richie, motions stilling completely. He picked up his phone and automatically chucks it across the room. “It was Beverly.”

“And you chucked it across the room because...?”

“I’m literally on the verge of fucking exploding and I know you are too.”

“Your screen is probably cracked, Rich.” chortled Eddie, lightly smacking the inside of his thigh. “Makeout with me so I can cum, ‘kay?”

“What are we, fuckin’ high schoolers?” 

“Chee, _please._ ” His voice is nothing but needy--breath shaking as he inches towards him. “I don’t care if it’s a fucking high school thing to do, okay? I just need to cum. I need _you_ to cum.”

“Trust me, baby,” murmurs Richie, “I don’t need convincing.” He places a firm hand on the back of Eddie’s head--leaning in quickly; his lips wrapping around the latter’s tongue. Richie thrusts up against Eddie’s crotch, drawing a broken moan out of him. He tries to meet his pace, but it’s all messy--different rhythms, different paces; but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because they both cum at the same time. It doesn’t matter because Richie’s cum is on Eddie’s pants. It doesn’t matter because Eddie came in his underwear like a goddamn high schooler. _It doesn’t fucking matter._

\--

It had been thirty minutes since the...intimate situation had occurred--and here they lie; cuddled up and freshly showered. They hadn’t spoken up since, but it was comforting nonetheless. Richie was not one for prolonged silence, though--so he was the one to speak up. “I really fucking like you.” 

“I know you do, you big sap.” sighed Eddie, turning over to face him. He places a soft kiss on his forehead--accompanying the crimson shade that had begun to grow. “I really fucking like you, too.” 

“Even when I _finally_ tell you why we’re both fucked?”

“Even when you _finally_ tell me why we’re both fucked.” repeated Eddie, his tone filled with admiration and reassurance; _nothing_ could tear him away from Richie. _Nothing._ “Like I said before, ‘Chee. If someone wants to fuck with us, then we fuck them back. We’re in this together.”

“You’re gonna get hurt. Killed, at most.”

“If I’m dying, I’ll die by your side.”

Richie’s eyes begin to water; once again, he is vulnerable. _Nobody_ had seen him this vulnerable but Eddie. He had finally found someone that would go through thick and thin with him. He had finally found someone who gave a fuck about him. He had finally found someone that loved him for who he really was. What would have happened if Eddie’s professor never assigned that project? What if Richie stayed with Alyssa? What if Alyssa never hit Eddie? Would everything still work out?

It would. It was fate. 

“I think you’re my soulmate or some shit.” whispered Richie.

“I know you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> godspeed, gay people. godspeed.


End file.
